


When the Stars Go Blue

by nutmeag83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, MAJOR FLUFF WARNING, Music, Playlist, Post-Season/Series 04, i personally try not to think about that ep at all, minor parentlock, post-TFP if you want it, post-tld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Talk of a possible case leads to dancing. Naturally.With a for realsies playlist. It’s multi-interactive!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came into existence all because I decided I wanted a playlist of romantic music for John and Sherlock. I have headcanoned them so hard as having quiet nights with dancing to soft music ever since TSoT, and I finally decided I wanted a playlist for my headcanon. Of course, my brain refused to stop there. As I thought about the music to include, I wondered if it was just songs that reminded me of them dancing or if was music that I thought they might dance to themselves. And then I wondered which of them would’ve created the list and why the list came into being in the first place. 
> 
> Et voila. We get this story. The actual creation/explanation of the playlist is rather insignificant to the story, but isn’t that how it always works out? And, as the first line of the fic says, “It begins, as most things begin with John and Sherlock, out of a single, insignificant moment.” Rather apropos, don’t you think? I totally didn’t plan that.
> 
> All that being said, while most of the songs in my actual playlist (see below) are ones that I think the two of them would include in their list, there are a few TRMoJaS songs that I just had to include because how could I not? This includes the track that’s also the title of this fic: “When the Stars Go Blue.” I went with the Corrs/Bono version, because British. Whenever I think of John and Sherlock dancing, this song comes to mind, for whatever strange reason.
> 
> Thanks to ambassadoroftrivia for creating the lovely TJLC Playlist that inspired me to make my own. The Tumblr link no longer works, but you can search for the playlist on Spotify.
> 
> This fic takes place at some point after TLD. Whether its compliant with TFP is up to you. Mary…well, the less we say about that plotline debacle, the better. I’ll let you decide whether her going out in a blaze of glory was redemptive or not (she’s totally evil, y’all; her redemptive arc was fake, and ep 3 was actually about the fallout of her evil machinations).
> 
> Not betaed or Brit-picked. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Playlist found on Spotify: <https://open.spotify.com/user/1248303817/playlist/5XpAsyM6CEX85iVSErZt63> [or search for the playlist “Johnlock Dancing”] and on YouTube: <https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkfE2VhghD95AnX2gRYFU9oU633LkpJrV>

It begins, as most things begin with John and Sherlock, out of a single, seemingly insignificant moment. It’s a quiet night. Rosie is asleep upstairs after a busy day at the park. She’ll be out all night, John can already tell. He and Sherlock are sat in their armchairs, ostensibly working (Sherlock) and reading (John), but inevitably one of them will pipe up with a thought, and then they’re off for the next five minutes on one subject or another.

Their relationship is still in the honeymoon stage, only a few months old, and John feels like a teenager sometimes. If they lived in different houses, he thinks they would spend hours on the phone with each other, talking about stupid shit. But, since they live together, no phone is necessary to span the distance. Instead, they grin at each other from their respective armchairs. There’s a lot of laughter these days, something sorely missing between them since Sherlock’s return. But there are quiet times, too. Like now, when they pretend to be busy, but in which they mostly spend enjoying each other’s company.

Sherlock is going through his email, trying to find a mildly interesting case that he can solve online. Most aren’t worth the effort, if the noises he’s making are anything to go by. Sometimes, they’re so bad that he actually expresses his disgust in real words. John just grins, happy that he gets to spend his evenings with one of the two most important people in his life (the other being asleep by now). He sometimes finds it hard to believe that the stars finally aligned. Years of pining (on both sides, he now knows) with a fake suicide smack in the middle did not leave him with much hope for a future with the brilliant man sitting in the chair opposite him. But here he is, and here Sherlock is. And they’re together and happy, and life is amazing.

Sherlock groans and rolls his eyes, and though it often seems like he can read John’s mind, John knows he’s not scoffing at John’s sentimental line of thought.

“That bad, huh?” he asks absentmindedly, laying his book in his lap to unabashedly stare at the man currently scowling at his laptop. Because he can do that now.

Sherlock raises his eyes, his scowl melting a little. John likely has an extremely soppy look on his own face, and that always tempers Sherlock’s own harsh facial expressions. But he rolls his eyes again, just to prove how ridiculous the email he’s reading is. “This…girl wants me to help her find a stolen dress. Something about a formal dance at her school next week. She’s apparently desperate.”

“Must be, to put up with you,” John sasses.

“Says the man who has been sleeping in my bed the past two months,” Sherlock shoots back, just as quick, but he’s smiling now.

“Well, we both already knew I was desperate. And a bit mental.”

Sherlock’s grin is one of the most beautiful things John has ever seen, and he knows he’ll never get tired of seeing it.

“True,” the detective says. “This girl, however, likely does not deserve to put up with me just to find a missing dress.”

John hums, mind going back in time to his own school dances. The nerves, the excitement. Spending hours getting his hair just right. The awkward dancing. He chuckles quietly.

Sherlock’s eyes narrow. “What?”

John waves a hand. “Nothing, just remembering my own school dances.”

“That would be during the Pleistocene epoch, yes?”

John can’t let that stand. He has to get in a dig of his own. “So geology rates higher than the solar system, does it?”

“Shut up.”

John grins and opens his book back up. He only gets three sentences in before Sherlock speaks up.

“Went to a lot of school dances, did you?”

John just gives him a “do you know me at all?” look that Sherlock can interpret in a second.

“Of course you did. I’m guessing your serial dating started early in life.”

John knows his face morphs from a playful “well, duh” to a mix of hurt and annoyance. They’ve avoided John’s dating past since they got together. Partially because bringing up his most recent experience in love is still quite painful, but also because he hasn’t told Sherlock that the serial dating he was prone to in their early days of flatsharing was John’s attempt to stop pining over the detective himself, rather than something John normally did.

He manages to force out an “I dated the normal amount back in school,” before hurrying to at least partially change the subject. “I spent more time hanging out with my mates than paying attention to my date, anyway. You know how it is. Awkward is a mild word for it.”

There’s a few moments of silence, and John is about to go back to his book when Sherlock quietly says “I don’t know, actually.”

Ah, of course. Sherlock wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular back in his school days, and likely neither wanted to spend time with his peers nor listen to bad pop music in a smelly gym when he could be doing experiments in blessed silence. John aches for that boy and is so glad he’s here for the man now.

He gives Sherlock a small smile. “You’re really not missing much.”

Sherlock nods, but something in his expression tells John that the man does feel he missed something. John tries to find the words to soothe Sherlock’s troubled mind, and finally stumbles onto something.

“You actually got a better version of it. All of the awkward nervousness, none of the smelly gym or bad music.”

Sherlock frowns in confusion. “The only dance I’ve been to was your—“ He stops himself before he can mention the wedding. He looks down at his computer, pretending to scroll through emails.

John huffs a chuckle. “True, but I think the attempted murder took center stage there. No time for awkwardness. Actually, I was thinking of the lead-up to that, when you taught me how to dance. Here.” He doesn’t add “behind closed curtains.” That was an idiotic thing for him to add the last time it was mentioned, and he knew as soon as he had said it that it had hurt Sherlock. It had hurt John, too.

No. The time for him to hid his love for Sherlock (and his sexuality in general) is behind them. He is proud of where they are now, that they can share such moments without worry or embarrassment.

He smiles softly as Sherlock glances up at John through his fringe, looking cautious and curious. “Do you know how nervous I was when we started? God, it was like a first date to a school dance all over again. The whole day before the lesson, I worried about stepping on your feet, having sweaty hands, and popping a boner.”

Sherlock chuckles, looking fully at John now and smiling. “Did you?”

“Mm hm. I was a _wreck_. All I needed was a bad suit and an ugly corsage, and it would have been just like being 16 again.”

“I was nervous, too.” Sherlock admits softly.

“The dance pro?” John shoots back.

“Just because I knew I wouldn’t step on your feet doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about the other things.”

Makes sense. He would have been pining just as hard as John had been. An idea pops into his head, and he goes for it. John sets his book on the table, stands, and puts his hand out to Sherlock. Sherlock stares at him in confusion.

“We need new dance memories. The awkwardness is great fun to remember, but so are the genuinely nice dances.”

“You…want to dance…with me?” Sherlock asks.

“’Course,” John says, removing the laptop from Sherlock’s lap and taking his hand to pull him to standing. “I know you hate doing boring couple things, but I think this is one you can get behind. Plus, you never know when a case might require it.”

“But I already know how to dance.” But Sherlock’s words are teasing now as he steps into John’s arms.

“Okay, then I need the practice, you git.”

“No argument there.”

“Watch it, or you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but ceases his teasing.

“Oh!” John almost forgot an important part of this whole experience. He steps away from Sherlock, putting up a finger when his partner frowns. He sits down in Sherlock’s chair, turning the laptop to face him. He thinks a minute before typing in his mum’s favorite song. A moment later, Duke Ellington and John Coltrane’s “In a Sentimental Mood” is drifting out of the tinny computer speakers, courtesy of YouTube.

John looks up in time to see Sherlock’s eyebrows go up. John smiles sheepishly. “Sorry for the quality. Best I could do at a moment’s notice.” He stands again and takes his place in front of Sherlock.

“No. It’s…it’s fine. This is…this is good.” Sherlock smiles down at John, and they fit together easily, as if they’ve been dancing together all their lives.

The worry and nervousness from their lessons is a thing of the past. Now, John can look at Sherlock to his fill, not worrying about his face showing too much. And if he pops a boner, well, that’s okay, too. Their bedroom is just a few steps away, and there’s no fiancée or mad villain to come between them.

“I love you,” John says softly.

Sherlock grins and pulls John closer. “And I love you,” he breathes into John’s hair. John’s veins sing with happiness. Could life get any better?

Sherlock leads, but keeps it simple. John is sure he would prefer something that requires real dancing, but he doesn’t complain about swaying instead performing organized dance steps. He just pulls John close, swaying them in time to the music. After a few bars, he leans his cheek on John’s temple, and John flashes back to the hug that started them on the journey of healing and coming together. He doesn’t linger, though, wanting to remain in this present moment. They are making memories after all.

They don’t pull apart when the song ends, and YouTube automatically plays another, a Billie Holiday song, John thinks. They continue to sway, not ready to end this moment. John would be happy to stay this way forever, tucked in Sherlock’s capable arms, breathing in his scent, the music playing quietly to the side. A few slow songs transition into Frank Sinatra’s “I Only Have Eyes for You,” and Sherlock huffs softly. John pulls his head back enough to look at his partner.

“Something funny?”

Sherlock shakes his head and looks a mite embarrassed.

“Tell me,” John says, running a hand across Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I….might have imagined dancing with you to this song.”

John grins. “Did you now? Do you have a whole routine worked out?”

“Shut up.”

“Teach me.”

Sherlock looks up from where he’d been staring at the floor in continued embarrassment. He looks wary. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Why? You professed some dislike for dancing last time. And the swaying we’ve been doing doesn’t exactly count as dancing.”

“Knew that would get worked in sometime,” John retorts, but he’s still grinning. He can’t get enough of these soft moments, seeing the Sherlock few others see. “You love dancing. It makes you happy. I love you, and I like seeing you happy.”

“I’m already happy,” Sherlock counters, but he’s already pushing his armchair out of the way. John doesn’t comment, but helps him move furniture out of the way for a dance floor. Once they have adequate space, they restart the song and come to stand in front of one another in the center, Sherlock moving John into the correct place and position.

Again, with John’s lack of experience, he keeps it simple, but they do more than sway, and Sherlock even twirls John a few times. They’re grinning by the time the song ends, and John thinks he’s managed to not completely bollocks it up. He’s waiting for the next song to start when Sherlock lets out a lion of a yawn.

“Okay,” John says, reluctantly stepping out of Sherlock’s arms. “I think its someone’s bedtime.

“But…” Sherlock protests, trying to pull John in again, but John holds strong.

“You’ve been up since three AM, Sherlock. It’s already half eleven. And Hopkins wants us down at the station first thing tomorrow to look at that jewel heist case.”

Sherlock purses his lips. “But—“

“Tell you what,” John cuts in, knowing Sherlock will be happy with his compromise. “Same time next week, yeah? A date. You can teach me whatever dance you want.”

Sherlock thinks on it for a moment before letting a shy smile grace his face. “Okay.”

John can’t help it. He has to kiss that face right this instant. It’s been at least ten minutes since he last did so. He gently grabs Sherlock’s shirt collar, pulls the man in, and gives him a peck, which turns into another, which turns into a longer kiss, which turns into a bit of a snog.

Sherlock pulls back with a huff of a laugh. “Didn’t you say I should go to bed?” His tone is sly, and he’s already walking backwards toward the kitchen, pulling John after him.

“I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I am pretty smart.”

They leave the living room with the remains of their evening as testament that they’d been there—armchairs and side tables pushed back, a laptop open to Frank Sinatra, and soft laughter echoing through the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a playlist.

Sherlock is sat at his laptop in perfect concentration. The living room is quiet, with Rosie downstairs with Mrs. Hudson and John still asleep. They had not gotten back to Baker Street until the wee hours of the morning after three days spent on a strenuous case.

Usually, Sherlock enjoys the post-case downtime. A chance to get his mind in order and let his body recuperate. Yes, there was a time when Sherlock wanted one case to lead straight into the next, no chance for him to think, to stew in how horrible his life had become; no chance for the siren call of drugs to tempt him. But now he has John and Rosie and, to some extent, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly. He even has Mycroft and his parents, when he is feeling particularly generous. He has afternoons in the park, evenings with films and cuddling on the sofa, and lazy mornings wrapped around the warm body of the man he loves more than life itself. And he has no need to prove or win any of it. It is his to love. Always.

So, usually, Sherlock revels. He lets his mind quiet down while watching Rosie attempting to walk or while John makes dinner. He eats dinner when John nudges it in front of him. He naps with Rosie on the sofa. He even takes boring cases just to make sure they make enough money so that John only needs to work at the clinic part time. He prefers John with him always, and John seems to enjoy it as well.

But today, he puts aside his usual post-case downtime to work on something very important. The dance date John promised him will occur in only two days, and he’s not yet had a chance to pick out the music. He’s been building a mental list of songs as they come to mind, and he finally understands why his peers were so obsessed with mix tapes back in school.

It’s a bit disconcerting, to be in charge of building the perfect playlist that will dictate how the evening will go. Of course, he needn’t worry that John will throw the tape at him in disgust or declare that they’re over if he doesn’t like Sherlock’s playlist—John tells him at least three times a day how much he loves Sherlock, and Sherlock is secure enough in himself now to know that John is just as likely to leave Sherlock as Sherlock is him (that is, never in a million years)—but Sherlock still feels the pressure to make the perfect compilation. He wants this to become a thing they do.

He loves the other things they do together—the cases, the evenings in front of the telly, the walks in the park—but he wants something special. While Sherlock is not quite so against things that make them a “normal” couple as he once was (although he would still rather face the nine circles of hell than attend a barbeque with other boring couples), he still wants something they can call their own. John argues that the cases and their own personalities set them apart from everyone else, and while this is true, Sherlock still wants something romantic for him and John to enjoy.

And that something had fallen into his lap last week when John pulled Sherlock into his arms and hummed along to Duke Ellington while they danced cheek to temple. The moment had been perfect. John had been soft and warm, and he’d smiled so sweetly, like he was exactly where he wanted to be. Sherlock’s heart had echoed in response, and he hadn’t even minded that they hadn’t really been dancing. And then John had let Sherlock dance him around the room for real, and then he had promised that they could do it again this week.

So now Sherlock needs— _needs_ —the perfect music. He starts off easy. “In a Sentimental Mood” is definitely on the list, since it was the first song they had danced to as a couple. As much as he holds dear the memory of their dance lessons from Before, that time was fraught and not what Sherlock wants to count as their first real dance.

“I Only Have Eyes for You” is another easy choice. From there, he pulls in songs that are meant more for swaying than dancing. He wants John to be comfortable, and he still isn’t the best of dancers (never will be, if Sherlock is honest with himself, but that is part of who John is, and Sherlock only ever wants the real John). Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, Louis Armstrong, and Edith Piaf join the list. The compilation is a bit old fashioned, but modern music isn’t even worth listening to, so Sherlock doesn’t let it bother him. John isn’t exactly a Millenial anyway.

Next comes something a little jazzier, meant to be danced to. More Frank, some Nat King Cole, Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, and Bing Crosby. He had been a bit embarrassed to admit that he’d envisioned them dancing to such music, had expected John to laugh him off, but John, being perfect for Sherlock, hadn’t teased. Instead, he’d asked Sherlock to teach him, to share the vision with him.

For all the years they had lost to confusion and poor communication, to machinations and bad timing, to missed opportunities and bad decisions, John makes up for it now by making Sherlock feel cherished and important and worth an effort. Sherlock tries his hardest to return the sentiment. He knows he is still harsh and rude, that he can forget that John is in the room, that a well-placed murder victim can tempt him over a quiet dinner, but he does try, which is why this list and their dancing are so important to him now. He needs to get this right.

He’s so focused on the list that he doesn’t hear John shuffle into the room. John’s hand landing softly on Sherlock’s back makes him jump slightly, both in surprise and in embarrassment.

“Morning,” John mumbles, brushing a kiss to Sherlock’s temple.

Sherlock straightens up a bit, pretending he’s not entirely too involved in making the modern equivalent of a mix tape.

“Afternoon is more like it,” he retorts after looking at the clock.

“Shut up,” John says without bite, letting his hand slide across Sherlock’s shoulders as he walks back to the kitchen to make tea and forage for food. “Someone kept me up till near five.”

“Rude,” Sherlock agrees with a smirk. John is particularly…libidinous following cases, and Sherlock definitely takes advantage of that fact, especially when Rosie is already asleep and not likely to wake.

Sex is something he had forgotten—or at least had packed away tightly enough that he hadn’t missed it—since he’d cleaned up and started solving cases. And then John had come along, and the idea of it had percolated in Sherlock’s brain, but he’d pushed it away, taking on more cases and, during the period of John’s marriage, drugs to help him forget. It had been a bodily function, another way to quiet his mind for a short time.

But when he finally had John, when the brave, crazy, loving army doctor had finally kissed him, Sherlock had remembered and had wanted. And this time, it isn’t just a function, a basic need to be filled. It means something. There is connection now. Love. Happiness. And yes, lust. Post-case sex like last night is more…physical then their usual. Their adrenaline pumping makes it hard for it to be anything but. They had both passed out after, with Sherlock waking in late morning, letting his partner sleep as long as needed.

After the tea is made and some semblance of breakfast/lunch thrown together, John sets a mug and plate to the side of Sherlock’s laptop, a not-so-subtle hint. Sherlock smiles in thanks and takes a big bite of beans and toast just to show that he’s giving his body what it needs to recuperate.

“What you working on?” John asks, pointing at the laptop with his own toast.

“Umm. Music?” Sherlock replies, taking another bite so he doesn’t have to explain. It doesn’t work. John peers around the laptop.

“Not your music, from the looks of it.” He cocks his head in question.

“Umm, no. It’s a, ummm…it’s a playlist.”

John’s eyebrows scrunch adorably in confusion. Unlike during cases, this time it’s merited. He has no way of knowing why Sherlock would need a playlist. He’s likely even forgotten their dance date. Sherlock could play it off as something for a case, but the thought of lying to John, even over something so insignificant, is abhorrent to him. Lies played a large part in keeping them apart for so long. He won’t let it come between them again, even over a playlist. Plus, the dancing was John’s idea to begin with. There’s no reason for Sherlock to be embarrassed.

He straightens and looks John in the eye. “For us. For dancing. So we can have our…dance date.” It sounds a bit silly, but Sherlock refuses to look away from John. Not that he could. Not with those beautiful blue eyes looking back at him.

And, as Sherlock should have known—did know, deep down—John just smiles brightly, as if Sherlock has climbed Mt. Everest or solved the Riemann hypothesis.

“I should’ve known you’d go all _High Fidelity_ on this.” He puts his chin in his hand, looking ready to listen. “What’ve you got?”

Sherlock furrows his brow. John makes no sense sometimes. “What do noise distortion and frequency have to do with my playlist?”

John chuckles, and it’s the most beautiful sound Sherlock’s ever heard, even when that chuckle is directed at himself. It’s a sweet laugh. John isn’t being vicious or cruel. He’s just enjoying learning something new about his partner. Sherlock understands this now, and appreciates it for what it is—discovery and love and happiness. So he just cocks his head and waits for John to explain.

“Novel by Nick Hornby? Made into a film with John Cusack? No? Of course not,” John continues, when Sherlock shows no recognition at the names. He waves a hand. “It’s a book and film about a music-obsessed man who uses top five music lists to explain his life and girlfriends. Not important, I suppose. I just mean, I should’ve realized you’d take our date night this seriously and plan it all out.”

“Of course I take it seriously, John. This is a night for _us_. I want to get it right. We need the perfect music. And we should have a romantic meal beforehand. Oh, and we should light a fire. I’ve already bought a new sound system—”

Sherlock must look…something, because John lays a hand on Sherlock’s to stop the words. Sherlock adores the feeling of John’s thumb rubbing circles on his. John smiles softly. “It _will_ be perfect, Sherlock, because it will be you and me dancing. The music could be complete shite, and it would still be perfect.”

“But—”

“I know, we don’t need to listen to shite music. And yes, I’m sure your playlist is lovely. All I’m saying is that you don’t need to be worrying over it. The harder you want something to be perfect, the harder it is to actually be perfect. Think about last week. It was perfect because we didn’t overthink it. It just was. We were together, and we were happy. That’s what matters, yeah?”

Sherlock mulls over the words. John has a point. They could’ve danced to “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” (a particularly horrible but common earworm when there’s a toddler in the house), and it still would’ve been perfect. He turns his hand over and laces their fingers together.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“That being said,” John continues, leaning around the edge of the laptop, “what’s on the list?”

ooOOoo

Their dance date is, of course, perfect. And, as John had pointed out, it has nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the two of them, together and happy. There is laughter and kissing and, not least of all, dancing. Sherlock does teach John a few more steps, but mostly it’s just them enjoying each other’s company.

It becomes a regular part of their lives. Not every week, and rarely on the same night of the week, because they are who they are, and cases and Rosie and even friends are an important part of their happiness; but they learn to make time for it, when they can. And it’s always perfect because its them, together and happy. Sometimes—not often, but this _is_ real life we’re talking about, so it does happen—it’s sad. Sometimes, it’s after they’ve fought, and this is a way to make up, to make things right. Sometimes they’re tired, and they can do nothing more than sway slightly as they each keep the other upright. Sometimes it’s full of laughter, like the time Sherlock slips in a cheesy love song from the ‘80s because he knows—he just _knows_ —that John pined over girls in sixth form over it.

After that, John demands a say in the music. And yes, sometimes its cheesy romantic ballads that he grew up with. But it’s through this sharing that Sherlock learns that The Smiths were John’s very favorite band from ages 14 to 17, and that he hates Journey (though “Open Arms” stays on the list because it’s deliciously cheesy and always makes John laugh). Sherlock learns about Otis Redding, Patsy Cline, and Amy Winehouse. He realizes he can tolerate Norah Jones when he’s dancing with John. Together they discover Madeleine Peyroux and Diana Krall. Sherlock researches every single musician John mentions and finds something worthy of the playlist.

Sometimes they dance when one of them is having a bad day. And though it starts off horribly, usually there are smiles and kisses by the end. Sometimes they dance to music that is only in their heads, when one of them is feeling goofy or romantic and pulls the other into his arms. Sometimes Rosie joins them. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson does. Or, memorably, that one time, Lestrade and Hopkins.

Years later, when a grown Rosie is asked what she thinks of when she thinks of her parents, she answers with a fond smile, “Dancing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my soppy trash. I just needed some fluffy Johnlock this week.

**Author's Note:**

> The version of “In a Sentimental Mood” that John pulls up on YouTube is this one: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCQfTNOC5aE>
> 
> And here is “I Only Have Eyes for You”: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQN1bsGkjhI>
> 
> You can, of course, find them both in my compiled playlist.


End file.
